Afterschool Help
by Winter-Grown-Lily
Summary: The prestigious World Academy prides on having the best pupils who are studious, focused, and obedient. Too bad Arthur follows all of them except for the last one, especially when coming across the forbidden rule of no romantic teacher/student relations. Why oh why did his Pysics teacher have to be Mr. Jones? oneshot for Fuji-Kumori rated M for a reason!


_A/N: Hiya Fuji~ This is for your fill '_Arthur, a student at w academy, has a crush on his teacher, alfred jones_.' I hope you enjoy this little oneshot~_

_*whispers* I think I went overboard with the 'crush' And I'm sorry if it's not quite what you had in mind._

_Plot holes and questionable writing ahoy!_

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Arthur never really looked at a teacher's desk so closely before.

He lets his eyes rove over the large (and surprisingly neat) surface, a stark contrast to his own one at home, which was littered with various papers of difference textures and writings, along with a few unicorn figurines hidden in between towering textbooks. Stationary of every kind overflow in their tins, spilling onto half-written notes and acting as bookmarks for well-thumbed novels. His chair was a reluctant coat hanger for his neatly pressed blazer, the World Academy crest embroidered on the left breast. Overall, it's a mess, and Arthur has learnt long ago to keep all his important homework on anything but that desk.

In contrast, this desk in front of him is neat and practical. Apart from some drawers holding the bare necessities for teaching, it has no other personal touches from the previous users. Even so, there is a pile of unmarked tests sitting next to a mug that had 'World's Greatest Teacher' in large block print across the front, along with the bright pencil case, and a laptop, shiny black, with an obnoxious (endearing) alien-like sticker stuck upon it. All these small touches make the desk seem more – for the lack of a better word, which is an accomplishment in itself for the top English student – homely. It strangely suits the sunny, fairly-straight forward teacher.

That's probably not the appropriate word for Arthur at the moment, since he's currently fantasising about having fast and red-hot sex with his teacher on that desk.

He can see it in his mind's eye: With a wide sweep of his arm, Arthur would send the laptop, the pencil case, the mug and those headache-inducing papers scattering across the bland carpet of the office, instead concentrating on bending the marker over the top of the spotless desk. His tongue would dart out to flick against the shell of the teacher's ear, earning a moan that was low and heavy. The man underneath him would buck wildly, trying to grind against the desk for some desperate friction. Arthur would oblige him with a smirk and a hand wrapped around the other's now pant-less cock to give it a few pumps – well, it was Arthur's fantasy, so he says they now have no pants, reality can go fuck itself. The teacher would then turn into a boneless heap underneath Arthur's fingertips, melting onto and into the table as Arthur continued thrusting into him. Every plunge into that dark, delicious hole would make the table shake dangerously, the loudest bang accompanied with the beautiful cry of his teacher's release, and he can feel himself tumbling after in a glorious, blinding-

"-thur. Arthur!"

Arthur blinks, the dream dissipating with from his eyes, and his vision is filled instead of his real-life crush staring concernedly at him (and definitely not moaning wantonly). "You okay there, champ? Thought I lost you for a second!"

Arthur guilty averts his eyes, avoiding eye contact with Mr 'Call me Alfred' Jones. Luckily, his teacher seems to interpret that as an admission of guilt, and leans back in his chair with a sigh. Arthur's eyes try not to flick back to the where tantalising slice of belly that is revealed.

"The thing is, Arthur," Mr Jones starts, his serious tone sultry and low in Arthur's ears, even though that is probably not the teacher's intention. Damn the after effects of that dream! "Your results were kinda…sucky. Even though I know that this class tends to be very hard on the students of this class, you're failing every test I throw at you. Hell, you basically bombed the last one!" The more Mr Jones describes the failures, the lower Arthur sinks into his chair, partially in embarrassment of his mistakes, and partly of the choice of words. Make his raging…problem much clearer, will you?

"I guess what I'm saying is that you shouldn't work yourself over something like this. So how 'bout some help? I can give you some sheets after class, or maybe I can show you the ropes of conducting a proper experiment? How 'bout that?"

'_How about we test whether that table of yours can hold two people shagging like mad rabbits?'_ Arthur's mind supplies.

Out loud he says: "Much obliged, Mr Jones–"

"I already told you, Art! You can call me Alfred!"

Arthur tries to calm his racing heart. "A-Alfred – I really appreciate your effort, I really do. I cannot thank you enough for at least help me past the minimum grade for this course."

"And you're gonna graduate with flying colours! You just gotta get your head in the game!"

As the Physics teacher snorts at his reference about the famous musical depicting singing teenagers, Arthur started getting up from his chair, another thank you and a goodbye forming on his lips. He is almost free to flee the mostly empty school to get started on his 'homework'.

The keyword being 'almost'.

"Oh, one more thing before you go, Arthur."

The World Academy student freezes, his arse hovering above his chair and his hand still resting on the back support.

Alfred leans forwards in his chair, his chin on his steeped fingers and a smile on his lips. It is not as friendly and teacher-like as before. In fact, now it looks sneakier and cockier, like it belongs on the face on someone cornering their prey. There's also a glint in his cornflower-blue eyes that sends a shiver down Arthur's spine; but was that out of fear or expectation?

"First assignment: The experiment of the mass a standard office chair may withstand while two persons are engaged in it."

Arthur stares at Alfred's still smirking face, at the window showing the fading afternoon light on the empty school grounds, then at the clock. For the next few moments, there is only the ticking of said clock and quickened breathing.

He goes and locks the office door with a resolute _click_.

Well. It looks like he would be getting some after school help on his homework, thanks to Mr Jones.


End file.
